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| I never thought it was such a bad little tree either, Linus. |
Every year, I wait for that moment - that moment when it starts to feel like Christmas. Lately, it's been hard to get that feeling, but I think that's just because my insomnia has been getting worse with each passing year and Baby Sis still insists on opening presents at seven in the damned morning.
Christmas is midnight services at church and the Hallelujah Chorus; picking out the perfect gift and spending five minutes wrapping it, even though I know it'll be torn into in ten seconds. But most importantly, Christmas is when I force myself to shed my depression (which isn't entirely seasonal, but gets worse in the winter) and spread some damned good will.
I may not be a good little Christian any more, but I still believe in miracles. And it remains miraculous to me that, whatever their faith or purpose, people take advantage of this holiday - sullied as it is, in Charlie's words, by "crass commercialism" - to give to one another. That's the part I never lose sight of; that's why, even in the midst of my depression, my sleeplessness, and my early-morning frustration, I still love Christmas.
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